King of the Castle

by Heather Graham

  “At the castle, Mike. Justin already told me where to find you.” He tipped his cap and went toward his car.

  “I’ll get my duffel bag, Mom,” Mike told her as Douglas drove away.

  As soon as he was gone, Kit seized her opportunity to ask Justin, “What was that all about?”

  “What? Oh, you heard. Soccer.” He seemed preoccupied.

  “Justin, you’re a liar.”

  “My business isn’t always yours, Kit, and you don’t really want it to be, do you?”

  She spun around and walked back to the cottage. Mike was still upstairs, so when Justin followed her, she attacked again, turning on him and demanding an explanation.

  “You know, Justin, when I first came here, Douglas asked me out to dinner. Then I saw you, and he never asked again.”

  He set his hands on his hips, returning her stare. “Well, it’s not because I’m the O’Niall, or any other such crazy thing,” he said flatly.

  “Then?”

  He laughed, catching the side of her face. “Katherine McHennessy, you’re a beautiful minx, but trust me, that wasn’t over you. If Douglas didn’t ask you out again, maybe it’s because he realizes just how closely you and I are tied.”

  And with that he turned and strode back outside, leaving her alone with her unsettling thoughts.

  CHAPTER 11

  Molly was delighted that Kit and Mike had come to stay.

  “I was wonderin’ just how long it would take ye ta find some good sense!” she told Kit chidingly.

  Kit looked quickly to Justin, wondering if he had told Molly about the doll or her experience in the woods, but he only shrugged.

  Molly usually left for home right after dinner, but this time she stayed to see to their rooms. Mike was given Justin’s old room, where a wonderful big rocking horse still sat in the corner. Kit would be right next to him—in the same room where she had awakened all those years ago, after Michael had died and she had passed out in Justin’s arms. As she walked around the room, she could still remember her awful feelings of loss and devastation—and disbelief. She and Michael had been so young; they hadn’t really believed in death, not for them, yet it had come to Michael….

  Right after dinner Justin had politely excused himself to work. Mike had homework, and now Kit decided that she might as well work, too. She hesitantly interrupted Justin to ask him if she could borrow his typewriter. He obliged her, quickly setting up one of the empty rooms as an office for her. When she thanked him, he told her coolly that she was welcome, and she surmised that a cold war had begun. Well, what did she expect? She had been coerced into coming here—even if she did feel safer.

  At eight-thirty Kit went up to tell Mike that he had to go to bed. He was, as she should have expected, sitting on the big rocking horse, and he smiled at her shyly.

  “Justin says that Devil is almost two hundred years old!” he told her proudly.

  She touched the thinning yarn mane on the exquisitely carved creation. Devil. That figured. But she smiled at Mike. “New York is hundreds of years old, too, Michael. It was named for James II, when he was Duke of York.”

  Mike watched her politely, but he really wasn’t very interested. “I love it here!” he told his mother fiercely. “Can we stay forever and ever?”

  “‘Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky,”’ Kit quoted, tweaking his nose.

  “Can we stay here a long time, then?”

  “I’m going to have to go on to other towns, Michael. I have a book to write, remember?”

  “Oh, I know. But we’ll still be in Ireland, so we can come back here.”

  She lifted her hands helplessly. “Don’t you miss your friends at home?”

  “Well, sure. But I have friends here, too, now. Petey McGovern, Harry Adair, Timothy—”

  “Okay, okay!” Kit laughed. “You have new friends. But don’t you get homesick?”

  “Sometimes,” Mike admitted. He smiled and threw himself from the horse to her, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Wherever you are, Mom, that’s where I want to be,” he told her. “But I do like it here.”

  “I like it here, too, Mike,” Kit admitted. “But now, bedtime.”

  “Aw, Mom…”

  “Bedtime. You want to go to school in the morning, don’t you?”

  Mike ran into the small bathroom to brush his teeth. Kit dug through his things—bless him, he’d already filled the drawers—until she found his pajamas. When he got back he grinned to show her the spot where he was missing a tooth and kissed her again. She sat on the bed and picked him up, cradling him against her.

  “I’m glad we came here, Mom.”

  “Well, if you’re glad, I’m glad.”

  Kit suddenly noticed a shadow at the open door. She glanced up to see Justin framed there, silent, brooding. He smiled for Mike, though, and walked into the room to tousle the boy’s hair.

  “You got everything you need, Michael?” His voice sounded husky and Kit was careful not to meet his eyes.

  But Mike jumped away from her and hugged Justin, catching him by surprise and throwing him off balance. They both landed on Kit, and all three of them ended up tangled together. Kit burst out with a protest, but by then Mike and Justin were laughing. When Mike begged for a story, they all sat up, and then Justin told him one about leprechauns that was awfully similar to Rumpelstiltskin. She enjoyed it, though; he was a great storyteller. And, despite herself, she felt warmth steal through her at the sight of the two men in her life together.

  Justin rose at last, kissed Mike on the forehead and watched while Kit tucked him into bed. Then he touched her chin lightly with his knuckles. “Good night,” he told her softly.

  After he left, Kit hesitated for a few seconds, then went back to her own room. She took a long shower and went right to bed, but sleep was a long time in coming.

  * * *

  Mike was already out of bed when Kit went to check on him the next morning. She hurried back to her own room and got dressed, then hurried down the stone stairway. She could hear Mike talking away a mile a minute. When she pushed open the heavy oak door to the kitchen, she found him sitting at the breakfast table, wolfing down oatmeal and applauding Molly’s newest array of creations. Potato heads, squash and even some small, sad-looking pumpkins lined the countertop.

  “More?” Kit asked her.

  “All Hallows’ Eve is just two nights away now,” Molly said.

  “So it is.”

  Kit helped herself to a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “So tell me, exactly what happens?”

  “It starts at eight—Justin must start it, being the O’Niall, you know. He lights the fire. Then the musicians play, and there are contests, dancing, singing—oh, and of course candy all around.” She winked at Mike, then smiled at Kit again. “’Tis fabulous, love; you’ll enjoy it. The dancing is spectacular, and some of it dates way, way back, which should help with that book of yours.”

  “I’m sure I will enjoy it very much.”

  Douglas Johnston’s horn began to beep, and Mike jumped up from the table, gave Kit a quick kiss and raced out.

  “Douglas is so kind,” Kit said to Molly, who beamed with pride.

  “Aye, that he is. Now, lassie, what’ll you have for breakfast?”

  Kit didn’t often have the luxury of letting someone else make her breakfast. She demurred at first, out of politeness, but Molly persisted until she said she’d love some bacon and eggs. But even when she had finished eating, Justin still had not appeared.

  “Where is ‘the O’Niall’?” she asked Molly lightly. “Still sleeping?”

  “Oh, heavens, no! He’s not a sleeper, that man. Needs no more than five or six hours a night. He’s in his den, working.”

  Kit nodded and thanked her. She should probably get back to work herself. For a serious author, she didn’t seem to be very interested in her writing.

  She didn’t go upstairs, though; she went to the carved door of Justin’s den and rapped on it
. He told her to come in, then looked at her expectantly while she gave him an awkward smile and moved closer to his desk.

  He was working on a blueprint of what appeared to be an old building, his T-square and a rack of sharpened pencils on his desk. It was all Greek to Kit, but she gazed down at the plans anyway.

  “You’re building this?”

  He looked up at her smiling, then shook his head. “It’s an old cathedral in Dublin that needs some reconstructive surgery or else it will fall into rubble. I’ve been asked to shore her up, right and proper.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “I think so.” He finished drawing a line, then looked at her again. “Would you like to go to dinner this evening? And to the theatre?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t say that you can’t.”

  “What about Mike?”

  “I’ve already asked Molly to stay.” His eyes searched hers when he spoke again. “A double date, you might say. With Julie McNamara and her husband, William. You’ve met Julie, I heard.”

  “You really do seem to know everything.”

  He shrugged, looking down at his blueprint again. “Finding that out hardly called for James Bond.” He was grinning when he gazed up at her again. “There’s only one bookstore anyone from around here would suggest, and that’s Julie’s. And when I had occasion to talk to her, she mentioned how much she had liked you.”

  Kit considered his offer for only a second. “Fine—if you’re sure Molly doesn’t mind.”

  “Molly adores Mike. Kit…”

  She stiffened automatically at his tone. “What?”

  “I have to go to Dublin soon. I was thinking of leaving on All Souls’ Day, and I want you to come. Now wait! I can’t leave you here alone—”

  “I’d be with Molly.”

  “Still, I’d rather that you were with me. And surely you need to go to Dublin. She’s a big city, but in many ways the heart of our history lies there. The Viking invaders founded her, and then there was Cromwell, not to forget our quest for the dethroned James, and then—”

  “I’ll go.”

  “That simply?”

  She nodded, lowering her eyes. “You’re right—I need to go to Dublin. For one thing, I have the names of a few photographers there. For another…”

  “Go on.”

  “I like the idea of dating. I…love you, Justin. I’m just afraid of the future.”

  He watched her for a while, then turned back to his work. “Tonight we need to leave about seven. We’ve reservations at an Italian restaurant—”

  “An Italian restaurant in Shallywae?”

  “In Cork. And Italian restaurants are found the world over. We’re not backward, my love. Seven?”

  “Seven.”

  He lowered his head, a frown of concentration instantly knitting his brow.

  Kit hesitated, then asked, “Justin?”

  “Aye?”

  “Why were you really arguing with Douglas Johnston yesterday?”

  A shield fell instantly over his eyes. “I told you—a soccer game.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Kit, I’m busy.”

  She didn’t feel like accepting that particular rebuff. “I’ll plague you until you tell me the truth,” she told him, then walked out and closed his door with a bang.

  * * *

  The restaurant was very Italian, and Kit loved it. There were fountains and vines, and wine bottles dangling from wicker baskets along the walls. Justin ordered a vintage wine before dinner, and it went down smoothly. Before they even ordered, Kit was feeling lazy and very much at ease.

  Julie’s husband already knew Justin, and he seemed genuinely pleased to meet her. William was friendly and easygoing, and as eager as Julie to offer suggestions about her book. Seeing Julie again was nice, too, but the best part of the evening was Justin.

  He was in a black three-piece suit, and he wore it with a negligent masculine flair that made her feel breathless even before she touched her wine. His after-shave smelled delicious, and his hair, still slightly damp from the shower, was like ink and continued to fall rakishly over his forehead. He was the most striking man she had ever seen, and he loved her….

  Her heart began to pound. She would never be able to leave him, so why did she keep holding back?

  For a moment she closed her eyes, dizzy. He’d never once suggested that they could spend time in the States. No, he was the O’Niall, and Ireland was his home. He’d never suggested that they go easy with Mike, that perhaps he could adopt him first, then explain. It was all such a mess.

  “Is that all right with you, Kit?” Justin was staring at her from his side of the small table.

  “Uh…fine,” she murmured, unwilling to admit that she hadn’t been paying the slightest attention.

  It was fine, though. He ordered too many courses for her to deal comfortably with, but she tasted them all, and they were all delicious. The show they went on to see was a Shakespeare comedy, ably performed.

  By the time they parted for the evening, promising to do this again, Kit was completely relaxed. She smiled and closed her eyes as she sat next to Justin in the car. She felt his eyes on her, and she kept smiling, but she didn’t look at him.

  His fingers curled over hers and he carried her hand to his knee. She inched it higher on his thigh until he made a slight growling sound—and returned her hand to his knee.

  “Sex, sex, sex. All you want is my body—and you won’t even marry me,” he complained teasingly.

  “Justin—”

  “Never mind. I don’t want to hear it tonight.” He turned to smile at her. “I have an idea. Let’s go to the cottage tonight.”

  “We can’t stay out that late.”

  “Molly is staying overnight.”

  “Where? I’m in the guest room.”

  He chuckled softly. “Kit, there are rooms in that place where I haven’t been myself in months. Years, maybe. It’s small as castles go, but it’s still got a lot of space.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Justin, please tell me. What were you and Douglas arguing about?”

  He stiffened. “Are you bribing me?”

  “No, I just want to know!”

  He hesitated, his eyes on the road. “I accused him of putting the doll on your front walk.”

  Kit gasped out loud and turned on him, almost causing him to drive off the road.

  “Kit, for God’s sake—”

  “For God’s sake is right, Justin! You think he might have done that but you didn’t tell me, and I’ve let my son—”

  “Kit, stop it! He’s my son, too. If I thought there was any danger to him—”

  “Any danger! You’re telling me that Douglas Johnston might be a murderer, but there’s no danger—”

  “I didn’t say that. And it isn’t possible. Douglas wasn’t even in town when Susan was killed. I thought he might have put the doll there to scare you away.” He paused. “Just like I think Liam O’Grady was running around in that cloak and mask the other day.”

  “Oh, my God! You think that Liam—”

  “No, I don’t. I think he did it for the same reason: to frighten you away before anything bad could happen to you.”

  Kit stared at him for several seconds before exploding. “You had no right to hide such things from me! Don’t you see? This is my whole point! You have no respect for my intelligence!”

  “Because you haven’t shown me a hell of a lot of it!” he shouted in return. “I told you, I’ve no proof—I’ve only suspicions. But you don’t want to listen to reason.”

  The car ground to a halt. At first Kit thought they he had merely parked on the side of the road so they could continue their argument, but he hadn’t. They had come to the cottage.

  He turned off the engine, and she stared at him in silence, then exploded again incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “No. Passion is a better release for anger than many another I know.” />
  Kit got out of the car, slammed the door and started walking back along the road. The moon was nearly full now and offered plenty of light for her trek back to the castle.

  “Kit!”

  He caught her arm, swinging her back to face him, and then two things happened. She knew that she would never walk that trail again; the terror was still too fresh in her mind. And she noticed such a ravaged look of concern and fear in Justin’s eyes that she buried her face against his coat. She needed to be held. The scratchy material seemed inordinately sensual against her flesh, and she was acutely aware of his wonderfully clean scent.

  Neither of them spoke as Kit led the way to the cottage and up the stairs to the bedroom. Yet it was good. She was held; she was loved. And that made her feel secure. If there hadn’t been, somewhere inside her, the memory of her anger, she might have had the nerve to really talk. To explain that she was simply afraid to let go of everything that was her own in life.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to speak, so everything was done in silence: their rough and desperate lovemaking; their lying together in the aftermath; their rising to dress and straighten the room.

  Justin didn’t speak until they had pulled up in front of the castle. “I’m asking you to trust my judgment, Kit. Please. I’m not even sure of what I’m saying—I only know that Douglas Johnston would never hurt Michael, and I know that he didn’t kill Susan.”

  “I don’t know, Justin,” she said wearily. “I just don’t know.”

  “After Saturday, we’ll be away. In Dublin. We’ll have enough distance to be able to see things clearly.”

  She shook her head, got out of the car and closed the door. She had a key to the castle, and now she used it without looking back. She walked all the way up the stairs without a word to Justin and checked nervously on Mike. He was fine, sleeping soundly. Molly must have been sleeping somewhere, too.

  Kit kissed his forehead, then went into her own room, where she shed her coat and her silky blue dress, put on her nightgown and slipped into bed.

  Seconds later, she heard a soft knocking on her door. “Kit?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to make sure that you were all right.”